


Rouge et Noir

by hereticalvision



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Chess, Chess Metaphors, F/M, Revenge, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:36:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereticalvision/pseuds/hereticalvision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chessmaster Ron is on a mission for the Head Auror, which may prevent the last Death Eaters evading justice. Pansy Parkinson is just there to get back at her ex. Queen's Gambit – what's your move now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rouge et Noir

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leigh_adams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh_adams/gifts).



> Written for Smutty Claus, December 2013. Inspired by 'Casino Royale' - you'll see. Love to Martha, as always.

On reflection, Ron should probably have pushed that, "Where did the money come from?" question a little harder. It's not like Harry was particularly skilled at evasion, despite having been Head Auror for over five years. Ron had simply chosen not to push it.

That kind of sloppiness was what had helped him bomb out of Auror training and now, even worse, got him stuck on a train with Pansy Parkinson.

"What the bloody hell…" Ron began.

"I'm the money," Pansy said. It was easy to believe when her robes were cut just so and rubies glowed at her throat. She was a lot more attractive than Ron remembered, though that might just have been the short cut of her robes, showing off her legs: she still had a pug nose and something of a permanent scowl. "Come on, Weasley, did you seriously think the Ministry was going to cough up fifty thousand galleons? Did you think they could afford to?"

Ron cursed mentally. "So you're the money. Why does that mean I'm stuck with you?"

Pansy's eyes gleamed. "Because I made it a condition of the loan. But I think I'll be useful to you, Weasley. Gabriel Leblanc is your mark, correct?"

"Firstly, keep your voice down, Parkinson," Ron said his tone low but furious. "It won't help us overmuch if you give away the plan before we even get there."

"Fine, fine. But is he?"

"Yes, all right, he is."

"I have what one might call insider knowledge of his tactics," Pansy said, studying her fingernails.

"You know him?"

"I know him," Pansy affirmed. "He owes my family a bit of money, too, which is probably why you haven't been able to lure him back to Britain."

"That wasn't in his file," said Ron, frowning.

"You mean my family didn't tell the Aurors all about our finances? Well, I'm shocked," said Pansy with a slight roll of her eyes. "He owes us money and he does definitely like to gamble. But since I'm no longer around to finance him, he's got into a little difficulty and now he's an informative cherry just waiting to be plucked from the tree. Speaking of cherries," she said, looking around, "is there somewhere to get cocktails on this train?"

"Dining car opens at seven," said Ron. "That gives you an hour to give me a better explanation of what you're doing here."

"Sounds dreadfully boring," Pansy said, shifting in what must have been a deliberate gesture designed to part her robes in the front just so and give him a tantalising look at her cleavage. "Could we talk about something else instead?"

"Do you always use your breasts to get what you want?" said Ron.

Pansy stilled. "That was rather uncalled for," she said.

Forced to consider, Ron could acknowledge that it had at the least been a little ungentlemanly.

"You want to analyse me? I can help you with that," Pansy said, her light tone darkening. "I use sex to get what I want. I wasn't very good at school and I don't care about any kind of academics, which makes most people think I'm stupid. But I'm a Slytherin and we learn how to be people-smart. For instance," she said, eyes narrowing, "by the sleeves of your robes it's pretty clear they're new. As in brand new, as in bought today. But they're expensive and your shoes are fairly cheap. So you were told, I'm guessing by the Aurors, that you should get yourself all dolled up for this assignment. Or maybe you just thought that none of your own robes were quite good enough."

"I just needed new robes, that's all," Ron said, a little defensive. "I get a new set for every competition."

"Oh, of course," Pansy said airily and she reached into her handbag, pulling out a cigarette.

"You can't smoke in here," Ron snapped.

"Of course I can," Pansy said calmly. "That's why I bribed the conductor."

Ron gritted his teeth and forced himself to take a calm, soothing breath. It didn't help. He took another and forced himself to think of something else for a moment, something restful. The Drunken Knight Opening: would the Paris Gambit or the Grant Gambit be more effective against LeBlanc?

Of course Parkinson crashed right back in. "I suppose you've given some thought to the fact that if you lose, the Ministry will have directly financed a man who may become the next Dark Lord? Not to mention the fact that if you give more of my money into that bastard's keeping, I won't be particularly pleased with you, either."

"By all means, Parkinson, worry more about your bank balance than the potential annihilation of the wizarding world," Ron snapped. "And are we really supposed to work together?"

"Yes," Pansy said, her smirk growing. "I'm so glad Potter didn't tell you. We're to pose as a couple."

"What?" Ron's jaw dropped. "Are you mad?"

"Blame Potter," said Pansy. "It's not my idea of a good time either, Weasel. So," she said, rising, "by all means write to Potter or firecall him or whatever you need to do to confirm that I'm not lying and come find me. While I'm bribing people, I may as well see if I can't get that cocktail to materialise."

And then she was off, a blur of robes and expensive perfume.

Ron could feel a headache coming on already.

***

Ron looked at the paper Harry had handed to him.

_1.e4 e5 2.Bc4 Bc5 3.b4 Bxb4 4.f4 exf4 5.Nf3 Be7 6.d4 Bh4+ 7.g3 fxg3 8.O-O gxh2+ 9.Qh1_

"It's the Four Pawns Gambit," Ron said. "At least, it almost is. That Q should be a K."

"It's supposedly a record of one of LeBlanc's chess games," said Harry. "Handwritten by the man himself."

Ron straightened; LeBlanc was well-known throughout wizarding chess circles. Not a grandmaster, not quite yet, but a man to look out for in the tournaments. Ron had never faced him but he's seen the transcripts of some of his games.

"LeBlanc wouldn't have made that kind of mistake," Ron said, frowning.

"No. But look at these," Harry said. Four more handwritten games in algebraic notation lay there and Ron looked them over.

"That move isn't possible," he said, pointing. "And… no, he couldn't have done that, it would have been mate in three moves – the response from his opponent doesn't make sense." He looked up at Harry. "Where did these come from? Are you sure he wrote them?"

"He did," Harry said grimly, "and we found them in the possession of man conspiring to keep the last Death Eaters out of custody."

"LeBlanc has connections to them?" Ron shook his head. "So, mate, are you saying this is some kind of code?"

"We think so. Can't tell what it means though – it's just a letter or a number in the wrong place. There must be pre-determined meanings."

"You've questioned him?"

Harry shook his head. "This is a bit weird but there's nothing to pin on him. Without the codebook, we can't even say for sure that this is anything worth noting. So we want you to go to Biel."

"You what?" Ron was out of his chair and on his feet in seconds. "Mate, there's a lot of things I'll do for you but Biel isn't any tournament: the players have to buy-in to provide the prize money. It's fifty thousand galleons."

"We can help you with that," Harry said calmly. "We'll stake you the money."

"We the Ministry?" Ron said, smelling a Wormtail.

"Don't worry, that's handled," Harry said firmly. "You just focus on winning."

"Harry," Ron said, swallowing hard, "I don't think you know what you're asking. Giresse is going to be there. Freitag from Germany. And the Russian. I'm good, I make a living, but I'm no Grandmaster and those guys…"

"You just have to put out LeBlanc," Harry said, raising his hands to soothe Ron. "All right? Just put LeBlanc out; he can't afford to lose the money. He's in big to some people who don't like it when their gold disappears and he's gambling on at least making number four and doubling his money. Besides, won't your big names be in the Grandmaster Tournament? LeBlanc is entering the Masters Open."

Ron exhaled while he thought. LeBlanc was ranked higher than he was, by enough that victory was by no means certain. The odds were better than they could have been, but still not wonderful.

"If he's involved in this, and my gut and at least one witness says he is," Harry said, "then we need him to help us find those last few Death Eaters. We just can't take the risk of any of them trying to stir up sympathies like that again."

"I remember the war," Ron said quietly. "There's no need to…"

"I'm sorry," Harry said at once. "But I need your help. You beat him, he'll have no one to turn to and we just scoop him up."

Ron had wanted to be an Auror, once. Wanted to stand by Harry through everything, wanted to marry Hermione. He'd stuffed both of those things up. 

But he'd never really got out of the habit of saying yes to Harry. And just maybe, he could do this.

"All right, mate," Ron said at last. "I've never been to Switzerland, after all."

"Great," Harry said with a grin. "You'll be met on the train by your contact. We'll sort out the travel right now."

"How will I know who my contact is?" Ron frowned.

"You'll know," Harry said. Ron hadn't really noticed at the time but it was just possible that he'd winced when he said it.

***

Other than sending an owl to Harry with a letter saying simply, _PARKINSON?!?_ , which could compromise the job, there wasn't really anything Ron could do.

He spent the rest of the journey looking over LeBlanc's matches to see what patterns he could discern. LeBlanc seemed to favour Bishop's Openings and regularly employed the Berlin Defence when he played Black. His pawn structure was immaculate: he was not the kind of player to leave many openings. He wasn't much of a risk-taker, and that could be used against him. But it was safe to say he knew what he was doing.

Ron didn't say anything when Pansy flopped back into her seat opposite him. She'd got that cocktail surely enough and she smelled faintly like smoke. "Did you talk to Potter?" she said.

"Didn't seem to be much point," Ron said. He looked at her. "Do you know much about chess yourself?"

Pansy shrugged. "I used to watch him play sometimes, but I wasn't interested enough to follow it all. Merlin, those games could go on for hours. It was unbearable."

Chess had been the great love of Ron's life ever since he broke up with Quidditch, knowing he'd never be good enough to go pro. Hearing chess described as boring really got up his nose no matter how common an opinion it was.

"I thought it would have been right up your street," Ron snapped. "What with all the strategy and the psyching out. Isn't that what Slytherin's all about?"

Pansy's lip curled. "It's pieces on a board that some people seem to take very, very seriously."

"Is that what did you two in?" Ron couldn't help but ask.

She hadn't been expecting that. Her self-assurance dropped and Ron saw her as she'd probably never want to be seen: vulnerable, just for a split second before her armour went back on. "No, it was the money," she said. Then she tossed her hair, shaking it off. "And what happened to your swotty sweetheart?"

Ron could have lied but instead he shrugged and told the truth. "I wasn't bright enough to keep her interested."

Pansy relaxed slightly at that, as had been Ron's intention. He was better at people than he'd used to be: chess had done that for him. Taken him out of himself in a way that being an Auror or being with Hermione never could have.

He wondered what Pansy had. If it had been LeBlanc for her, the thing in her life that had made it work.

"We're stuck with each other for a few days," he said. "Let's try to get along?"

"We're going to have to if we'll be posing as a couple," Pansy said with a wicked smile.

"You mentioned," Ron said. "Twice." He didn't know what else to say. "Harry really should have told me this."

Pansy shrugged and took a sip of her drink. "Bet you wish you'd asked me to get you a cocktail, too."

***

Biel was a lovely city, set at the foot of the Jura mountains. The wizarding district lay within the old town and even Ron, who didn't really have much of an eye for such things, was impressed by the architecture.

D'hôtel Chaudron Baveur boasted turrets in half its rooms and the players were all on the top two floors. Ron gave his name at the desk and forced himself not to scowl when Pansy slipped her hand under his arm.

"How positively charming, darling," she said. "I'm so glad you decided to bring me along." She smiled at the concierge and said in confiding tones, "He so often tells me I'm too much of a distraction to be with him when he plays."

The concierge's eyes dipped to Pansy's cleavage before he said, "I can well believe it, madame."

Pansy had the bloody nerve to giggle.

"Let's find our room, shall we _darling_?" Ron said through gritted teeth.

"Do let's," Pansy said with a smile. "We can't have you having a jealous fit before we even check in now, can we?"

So, all right, Pansy had won that round. And the room only had one bed, which Ron should have predicted. He'd hoped to lie down for a moment but Pansy had started bouncing on the mattress the moment they got to the room.

"You know it's LeBlanc you're supposed to be distracting?" Ron reminded her, irritated.

"Oh, I will," Pansy said with a grin. "But you're not playing him until tomorrow, are you?"

"First game's tomorrow," Ron said. "I've drawn Pedersen which should go well enough, I've beaten him twice before. It would be pretty awkward if I lost this time." So much riding on him. After the pressure of the war, this should have been easy but he'd screwed up so many times since then. This was what he had, what he could do, and he hated that now it wasn't clean anymore. The stakes were pressing heavily on him.

"Mm," Pansy said. "Should I come with you?"

"Not to the opening ceremony," Ron said. "Don't want LeBlanc to see you until we're playing; if you being here will rattle him then that should be reserved for maximum impact."

"Suits me," Pansy said, yawning. "I think I'll go shopping for something suitably unsuitable."

"You do that," said Ron. "Just don't be seen."

"Oh, please, Weasley." Pansy pulled her wand from her cleavage and suddenly she was wearing a glamour. "I think I've got it covered."

Her breasts weren't just for distraction, then. Ron swallowed.

"Great," he said in slightly strangled tones. He really needed to stop fixating on Pansy's breasts if he was going to get through this. "I'm going to head down and get a drink."

"See you later, darling," Pansy trilled, an edge to her voice.

"Yep," Ron managed, and he was out the door before she could say anything else.

Clearly it had been far too long, if he was finding himself staring at Pansy Parkinson's tits.

***

That night would see the opening ceremony of the tournament. There would be speeches, some recaps of famous games and of course freely available, very expensive alcohol. None of the players would be drinking too much of course: the last thing a Chess Master needed was to cloud up his mind the day before the beginning of a big tournament. But the sponsors and the spectators tended to get quite rowdy.

Ron had, on his first time at a tournament, made the mistake of indulging too heavily. A schoolboy error, it had cost him progression into the next round. Tonight he wanted a drink even more desperately but that wouldn't help ease the tension.

Ron wandered around, smiling and shaking hands. There was speculation and some joshing about bets on the Grandmasters. Pedersen found Ron and said hello with the courtesy and distance Ron had come to expect from him pre-game. After the tournament, though, Pedersen would be gregarious and likely drunk. Ron chatted with the man a while but moved on quickly: it wouldn't do to force the man to talk when he was trying to focus his mind.

The pretty girl from _Federation Internationale des Echecs Wizard_ was on the podium, presumably there to introduce the zone president who would be overseeing the tournament. Ron tuned it out: he had been here before, heard the speeches before, seen the conjured illusion of chess pieces dancing in mid-air before. They all brought with them discomfiting memories of games lost, opponents who intimidated him, the time before he'd cut back on his drinking. The fact that he'd tried to chat up the pretty girl once and she had flat-out ignored him.

For now Ron scanned the crowd. Most of the faces he knew. Some were oddly absent – not all of the Grandmasters had come. Perhaps, like him, they'd been through so many that they felt they'd paid their dues.

There were several female players scattered throughout the room and Ron nodded to acknowledge Ozolins, the Latvian woman who had comprehensively demolished him three months before. He would have to talk strategy with her sometime. Some time when he did not have a mission.

Ron felt vaguely ill. He'd wanted to be an Auror and he'd wanted to play chess but this wasn't quite what he'd had in mind.

He went back to scanning the crowd, and all at once there he was: Gabriel LeBlanc, the man to beat. He was blond, though not as blond as Malfoy had been. Muscular build. More expensive robes than Ron's, even he could see that, and in a bright high-maintenance white, demanding attention. Living rich, then, which wasn't surprising given that he was the FIDEW's 30th ranked player with a rating of 2523.

Ron was ranked 41st and rated 2427. He regularly won enough money that he'd managed to buy his own house, to ensure that any kids he would have wouldn't have to share rooms or wear hand-me-downs. But he never felt like a success. The house was empty except for him and his career was something he'd sort of fallen into.

Gabriel LeBlanc held himself every bit like a man who thought of himself as a success and Ron could easily hate him for it.

Mercifully, the speeches didn't go on for much longer after that. When the drinks reception began, it was easy to pick out the players, who nursed their single drink for most of the event, from the spectators and officials, who liberally helped themselves to the champagne and butterbeer.

Ron watched LeBlanc as he flirted with that pretty girl who flirted right on back. His teeth were too white, his smile too large. If Pansy had told the truth and LeBlanc was up to his eyes in debt, his demeanour showed none of it.

"Ah, LeBlanc," Giresse said, suddenly at Ron's shoulder. "Quite ze character."

Ron tensed: Giresse was something of a hero of his. The top-ranked Frenchman in the world at number 15, Giresse was twenty years older than Ron and spoke with a mixed accent: a hint of Fleur's pronunciation, a flicker of American vowels.

"He seems showy tonight," said Ron. "Which is strange – it doesn't match the character of his games."

Giresse met Ron's eyes and smiled. "Ah, good. You have noticed. So think, then: which is ze real man and which illusion?"

Ron turned back to LeBlanc, loud and gregarious and drinking more than was sensible for the night before a match. "I don't know."

Giresse chuckled. "You work it out, you beat him."

Ron swallowed. "I just want to say – I'm very pleased to be meeting you." He'd seen the man play of course, a dozen times or more, but this was the first time they'd spoken.

"It is Weasley, is it not," Giresse said, shaking his hand. "I would like to see you progress. You play fiercely."

"Cheers," was all Ron could manage.

Giresse smiled and left Ron there to look over at LeBlanc who seemed completely oblivious to his presence.

It was getting late: time for that early night, perhaps.

When Ron went up to the room, it was in total darkness. Parkinson had taken the right side of the bed. It was just as well that the bed was roughly the size of an ocean because she seemed to have done her best to take over as much of it as possible.

Ron sighed, and got washed and changed in the bathroom before lying down.

Pansy gave no sign that he'd disturbed her until out of nowhere she said, "Was _he_ there?"

"He was," Ron said softly.

"What did you think of him?"

Ron thought for a moment. "I thought he seemed fake."

Pansy snorted and rolled over, and that was apparently the end of the conversation.

***

In the morning, Pansy was already gone when Ron woke. That suited him fine; his pre-game routine was quite specific and he didn't like anybody disrupting it.

Breakfast: two boiled eggs. Tea, never coffee. Orange juice. And then to the tournament venue for the first game.

He'd played Pedersen before, often enough to be fairly sure he could win though he'd never won by much. It was just as well, kept him from complacency. It wouldn't do to focus on LeBlanc too much, to become obsessive.

Pedersen was already in the hall when Ron arrived. Not surprising: the man had taken the ruling on lateness resulting in a lost game extremely seriously. The two took their places; Ron had drawn black.

There was no delay to Pedersen's opening move. Of course not, he would have planned in advance, considered it all carefully. 

"Queen's Bishop Pawn to c4," Pedersen said.

The English Opening. Ron smiled wryly and Pedersen smiled back.

King's English, then, Ron decided. "Queen's Pawn to e5."

And they were off.

***

"You won, I assume," Pansy said when Ron got back to the room. She was lounging across the bed again, magazine in hand, bags filled with new clothes strewn across the floor. She was wearing a gauzy robe which didn't leave much to the imagination; Ron tried not to look.

"I did," he said. "Three and a half hours, a hundred and fifty-three moves. Pedersen resigned."

"That's nice, dear," Pansy said, not taking her eyes off the magazine which Ron could now see was called _Robes_. 

Nobody Ron knew would ever have wasted time on something like that.

"Aren't you excited at all about chess?" Ron asked, sitting down to take his shoes off.

"No," Pansy said, turning the page.

"You never talked about it with LeBlanc?"

"That topic is off-limits," Pansy said at once.

Ron sighed. "Look, just… I'm sure it must be awkward for you but I'm just trying to understand him so I can beat him. Isn't that part of why you're here? To help me beat him? Make sure he's vulnerable?"

"And my relationship with him is part of that," Pansy said as though testing the idea. She shrugged. "All right, I suppose I can see that." She snapped the magazine closed and sat upright. "Go on then, Weasley."

"You used to go with him to tournaments?" Ron could never recall seeing her there.

"Sometimes," Pansy said. "Gabe didn't like it when I did, he said it threw him off. Which was a bit of a shame because I do like it when a man wins."

You didn't say anything when I told you _I'd_ won, Ron nearly said.

"He was the kind of man who loves to win. Really loved it, used to come back from the games all lit up and turned on."

Ron swallowed. "Turned on?" His eyes darted involuntarily to her cleavage. He wished her clothes were slightly less revealing.

"Yep." Pansy studied her nails with exaggerated nonchalance. "Beating somebody gave him an erection."

The way she said _erection_ … Merlin. "I see," Ron forced out.

Pansy smirked. "I'm sure you do, Weasley." She reached up and trailed her brightly coloured nails down the neckline of her robe. "Would you like me to describe it to you some more?"

"No," said Ron, "Merlin, no, I get it. No need to be vulgar."

"'Vulgar'?" Pansy repeated with a sharp laugh. "You sound like Narcissa Malfoy all of a sudden."

"You shouldn't say those kinds of things," Ron said. "Mum always said…"

"Your Mum clearly liked a good time as much as the next woman," Pansy said, every word emphasised. "There are what, seven of you? Good for her."

"Shut up about my Mum," Ron snarled.

"Oh, Weasley, how exactly am I insulting her?" Pansy said, slapping her hands down on the bed. "I'm saying, good for her. Good for any woman who revels in sex, and stuff your 'vulgar'. You get turned on by sweet little girls in white panties, fine. Gabe doesn't, which is why he was with me."

"No, that was about the money," Ron said without thinking.

Pansy's jaw tightened.

"I didn't mean…"

"It's fine," Pansy said, shaking out her hair as though nothing could touch her when some things visibly could. "Everyone likes money, don't they? Especially you. Look at you, using your hard-won chess gold to buy nice clothes when you don't even feel comfortable in them. Growing up poor really did give you a complex, didn't it? Of course, it took you longer to bed down into failure, to really screw things up for yourself."

"Shut up," Ron said, his ears burning, a leap of rage in his belly.

"You started the spotlight game, Weasley," Pansy snapped. "And the world knows you wanted to be an Auror but bombed out of the training."

"Yeah? Well what did you ever try to do? Did you ever try to find a job where what you did meant something?"

"Couldn't do, could I?" Pansy said viciously. "I was a scared girl at seventeen when you were off being a hero and I paid for that by never being received by your new leaders of the country."

"You tried to sell my best friend, the Chosen One, out to Voldemort and you're surprised that had consequences?"

Pansy didn't answer.

Ron blew air out from his cheeks. "Parkinson, I'm not up for rehashing the past. I'm not interested in hearing a chorus of Wesley is Our King and I could shout at you all damn day about your politics and it won't change the past. We're supposed to be talking about LeBlanc."

Pansy didn't say anything for a moment. She crossed her arms over her chest and held herself like that, just for a moment.

Eventually she spoke. "Gabe liked me because I have money and good tits," Pansy said dully. "I knew it. That was what he was after and I gave it to him because I wanted him to love me."

There wasn't a lot Ron could say to that.

"I'm not after sympathy, Weasley," Pansy said. "I made a trade, right? I knew what I was getting into and I decided. Gabe was attractive and charming…"

"And pure-blooded?"

Pansy sneered. "Half, actually. So there was that for him, too. Pureblood still means something in some quarters."

"So he's big on winning and prestige." Ron had known that, or could have guessed. Only his blood-status was a surprise: Ron would have put money on Pansy caring about that kind of thing. "Did you know he was mixed up with Death Eaters?"

Pansy looked at Ron like he was an idiot. "Everyone I know is, Weasley, just about. Think who my family are. Who we know. That's why Draco broke things off with us, actually – too much Death Eater in a marriage to make us a viable couple from a political point of view." From the way she said it, Ron could tell that she was mimicking Malfoy.

"That was cold," Ron said.

"Draco could be, sometimes," Pansy said with a shrug. "More often though he was a screaming histrionics kind of man."

Ron laughed at that, unable to help it. Pansy smiled reluctantly herself.

"So there you have it," she said. "Pansy Parkinson loves twice, gets dumped twice. Classic poor little rich girl story, isn't it?"

"A bit, yeah," Ron said. "But you're not the only one in the world who ever got dumped, you know."

Pansy pulled a face. "Is that supposed to be comforting?"

Ron huffed a laugh. "Must be. People don't half say it a lot. That and, 'everything happens for a reason'."

Pansy's eyes gleamed. "Time heals all wounds."

Ron nodded. "Plenty of merpeople in the sea."

A slow smile was tugging at the corners of Pansy's mouth. "Good things come to those who wait."

"The best revenge is living well."

At that one Pansy looked away.

"You're not that tough, Parkinson," said Ron. "Are you?"

"Maybe not. But I still want his blood." Pansy looked at Ron with narrowed eyes. "So you focus on your game and I'll focus on screwing with his head tomorrow. And then maybe, after that, I can get to the living well part of my revenge."

"Right," Ron said. He reached out towards her on impulse but stopped just shy of touching her when she spoke.

"You think you can do this?"

"I'm a Master," Ron said calmly, willing himself to believe it. "I can do this."

***

When Pansy woke the next morning, Weasley had already left to go perform his morning pre-game ritual. It was his turn to be up early, she supposed, although it annoyed her that he must have seen her hair in its early morning disarray.

He'd left a note saying simply 'Game starts at eleven o'clock. Be five minutes early.' It was a little insulting, frankly, as though she might not have heard him the first three times.

Pansy was a woman with an excellent grip on reality. She knew she wasn't really beautiful but she had great breasts and a sharp, sexy haircut and big blue eyes which she could make appear almost innocent if she was talking to someone who didn't know her very well. She knew she wasn't very smart, hadn't done well at school, hadn't been quite bright enough to keep her impolitic thoughts to herself when it counted most.

She was not at all sure that Weasley could win. She didn't know a lot about chess, not really. Didn't know what the rankings meant except that higher numbers were better. Knew which piece did what but couldn't really follow a game, couldn't tell who was going to win. Never saw any of this 'mate in ten moves' bollocks coming. But Gabe was good, and Gabe was smart, and Weasley had the self-confidence of a squirrel. She'd seen him in school as Keeper, fine when he was puffed up and on form, going to pieces when someone got under his skin. And Gabe was good at that, was very very good at that.

It was going to come down to her more than Weasley would want to think.

Pansy took her time showering and curling her hair. She loved the style of the twenties, satin and lace. Her robe was peach, almost skin tone if her own skin wasn't so pale. Lace on the décolletage, barely-there straps, the material clung to her every curve. Silver slippers, long string of pearls. Her lips and nails she painted gold.

Then she walked into the games hall at precisely five to eleven with the sexiest catwalk prowl she could muster.

Gabe was talking to Weasley, no doubt trying to get into his head. Pansy knew his strategies. He was brilliant in his way: he could get the measure of his opponent in seconds.

But whatever he was saying, he stalled when he saw her. Pansy tossed her hair and widened her smile just a little and Gabe stared at her.

She focused on her walk, the roll of her hips as she balanced on the high heels she'd chosen to make her legs seem longer.

Gabe took a step towards her and another. Behind him Ron, turned to looked towards her; the expression on his face was damn near struck dumb.

Pansy knew what she was seeing on Weasley's face. She was getting to him. Good.

"Pansy," Gabe said in his deep, accented voice. Merlin, that voice had made her shiver. "What – er, I am surprised to see you here."

"Why?" Pansy said, baring her teeth in something that no sane person would label a smile. "I knew you were going to be here and you owe me quite a lot of money, hm?"

"Pansy, that is all just a misunderstanding…" Gabe began.

"Yes, I'm sure it is," Pansy said, still showing teeth. "A misunderstanding to the tune of several thousand galleons."

"You don't have any paperwork…"

"Oh, but I do, darling," said Pansy. "Granted it's all forged, but I assure you that it will stand up in front of the Wizengamot. Leave me, embarrass me, fine. Think you get away with stealing half of my inheritance? You are playing that game with the wrong girl."

The look on Gabe's face was almost enough to make up for the three weeks Pansy had spent drinking vodka and crying into her pillow.

Then his shock and horror twisted into something venomous. "You are a stupid little bitch and if you hadn't been rich I never would have touched you."

Pansy smiled wider. "No darling, you're the stupid little bitch and if you don't give me my money back, I swear blind the people my family have planted in the audience at this little tournament of yours will drag you back to Britain and lock you in our damn vault if we have to."

"I have powerful friends…"

"I have a pureblood name," Pansy said, staring him down. "Want to find out which is worth more?"

She didn't wait for an answer but brushed by him, walked over to Ron and beamed at him. "Slight change of plan."

"What?" said Ron, distracted by something about her, possibly her perfume? She couldn't quite tell.

"Yeah," said Pansy. "I couldn't help it, I threatened him."

The official, using a _sonorous_ charm, called, "Please, everyone take your places."

Ron caught her arm. "You what?"

Pansy grinned. "It was brilliant. He's going to be panicking right this moment. So just make sure you win, all right?" Then she dropped a thorough kiss onto his mouth.

"Pansy!" Ron nearly yelped when she pulled away. His eyes darted from Pansy's mouth to her breasts and back again. Pansy wondered if Gabe was staring, if he'd seen.

"For luck, Weasley?" She smiled. "If he wins I get my money back; if you win I get to punish him. Today is a good day!"

***

Ron was not having a wonderful morning. The boiled eggs had been harder than he liked and the breakfast service had given him grapefruit juice instead of orange. Apparently they'd run out.

It was a relatively small hitch but then on a day like today every little hitch could be deadly. And now Pansy Parkinson had just shoved her tits and tongue up against him at exactly the wrong damned moment and he was going to have to take his seat at the most crucial game he'd ever played half turned on and mind whirling.

Did she really not care if he won or if LeBlanc did? Was that why she'd been so blasé the day before? She was sexy, she was getting to him, but this wasn't the kind of thing he did. He'd been with Hermione and only Hermione, not for want of trying, and if Pansy was going to throw herself at him, was there a good reason to dodge? Other than their shared past and the huge differences between them?

And would any of that matter if he lost the game?

LeBlanc took a seat at the table, glaring at him. "I am going to destroy you," he said.

Well, at least the game would be interesting.

Today, Ron was White, and would go first. "King's Pawn to e4," he said and the piece obligingly moved.

LeBlanc was leaning one elbow on the table, clenching his hand into a fist up at eye level. "Queen's Bishop Pawn to c5."

The Sicilian Defence. Predictable. All right then, the Smith-Morra Gambit.

***

The thing about chess, when you come right down to it, thought Pansy, is that it's boring. Oh, sure, there's a kind of slick sexy to it if you're into brainy, and Pansy sort of was. But it was not really a spectator sport in the same way as Quidditch.

It was however quite the experience for a people-watcher. Gabe was nowhere near as focused as Pansy had seen him in the past. She's done it; she'd forced a wedge right in between the real him and the fake. She wished she had popcorn.

And Weasley. Who'd have known? Pansy had never bothered to sit through one of his matches before and watching the concentration on his face was surprisingly stirring.

In the audience were several faces she knew: Giresse, even she knew him. The two men her family had hired, she hadn't been lying about that. A man in pinstriped robes who couldn't possibly have looked more like an Auror trying not to look like an Auror.

It was a good day.

Ron was frowning, had been frowning for a long time. Pansy glanced again at the time. An hour.

"You are Miss Parkinson, are you not?" said Giresse, suddenly next to her.

Pansy looked at Giresse and back to Ron and Gabe, deep in thought.

"Thank goodness for silencing charms," Giresse said with a smile. "Now, if I am not very mistaken, that man is your former fiancé?"

"He is," Pansy said. "But Ron can beat him."

"He could, Miss Parkinson, but I do not know that he is going to. You do not yourself play chess?"

"Er," said Pansy.

"He is falling into the Siberian trap," said Giresse. "He can see it but he does not see the way out. He is going to lose his Queen very soon, and will only avoid mate if he is very lucky."

Pansy looked at the pieces hovering in the air; she didn't see enough to know what he was talking about but she saw it now when she looked at Gabe, the flicker of a smirk just hidden.

Look up and see it, Weasley. Look up and see it on his face.

Ron reached out to touch his King's Rook Pawn. Gabe's smile fixed.

Look UP! Pansy wanted to scream.

And suddenly Ron did: he eyes flicked up to take in LeBlanc's face and he saw it there and he pulled his hand away just short of the piece.

Pansy released a breath she didn't know she was holding.

Ron looked again at the board and at LeBlanc. "Knight to b5," he said clearly.

"That's better, isn't it," Pansy said wildly.

"It's better," said Giresse, frowning. "He's playing catch up now but at least with that move he has a chance."

"Good," Pansy said with a sigh.

Giresse looked at her hard. "Tell me, Miss Parkinson: I can understand on principle why you'd want your former affianced to fail. But how will LeBlanc return your family's money if he lose it all today?"

Pansy frowned. "You seem both well-informed and inquisitive, Monsieur."

Giresse tilted his head to one side to look at her. "I mean no harm, Mademoiselle. I zuppose we shall see who prevails today."

***

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Ron's mind raged at him. There was nothing for it now but to try for a sharp position which might give him an equal chance.

At least LeBlanc had stopped smiling. That was something. Time to sacrifice a rook to damage the pawn structure.

***

Three hours. They were now into the third hour of the damned game and Pansy was almost tempted to stick her fingernails in her mouth and ruin her manicure. Progress had been slow, pieces had been exchanged all over the board and now they were down to a king and a pawn each.

And then – oh! Ron moved his King in from the side – he could take that pawn in the next move.

The spectators held their breath.

Ron calmly looked LeBlanc in the face.

Gabe looked every bit as unfortunate as Pansy had hoped as he reached out slowly and pushed over his King.

"I resign," he managed.

The crowd did not go wild, as Pansy might have liked. Rather they applauded politely as Ron stood and offered Gabe his hand.

Pansy looked from her family's men to the Aurors and dismissed Gabe as something she didn't have to deal with. Much more important was the winner's sheen all over Weasley.

"Yeah, Ron! Weasley is our King!" she shouted clear across the room.

Some laughed and some scowled at her breach of proper etiquette but Weasley just turned a delicious shade of bright red.

She'd been telling the truth when she said that winning turned Gabe on; she just hadn't mentioned that it worked for her too.

***

"Did you see the moment when he missed that fork and I captured his Knight?" Ron crowed. "Pansy, it was a schoolboy error. And I thought I was gone at the beginning there, on that eighth move when I had no idea what I was doing…"

Pansy closed the hotel door behind them. "You've got good game, Weasley," she said, stalking towards him.

Oblivious, Ron grinned. "I told you I was a Master."

"Oh yeah?" Pansy smiled at that, couldn't help it. Then she reached up to where her beautiful peach satin robe was held up by tiny straps and slid them over her shoulders so the dress hit the ground.

She was wearing nothing beneath.

Ron's eyes widened and he looked everywhere in the room except straight at her body. "Bloody hell, Parkinson…"

Pansy put her hands on her hips, a move precisely calculated to make her breasts jut out that little bit more. "Queen's Gambit--what's your move now, bright boy?"

Pansy held her breath for just a moment, not quite sure. She didn't know how to be except who she was: brash, blunt and embarrassingly forward. She thought Weasley had seen something in her to like but she wasn't certain, not certain enough.

"Parkinson," said Ron, shaking his head and Pansy felt her stomach swoop. "Look, you're gorgeous and I…"

"Oh, _fuck_ ," she said with feeling and turned away from him.

"Look," Ron said, wetting his lips. "You… this is complicated and I…"

"Actually, it's simple," Pansy snapped. "You decline, fine, I'm a big girl."

"Are you?" Ron said. "Because to me it seems like you're doing this because you're hurt and lonely, not because you really want me."

Pansy slowed, turned back to him. "You don't want me, fine. But don't give me that. You're just as hurt and lonely as I am. You've been cut just as deep. I thought maybe…" She made a disgusted noise in her throat. "Never mind."

"What did you think?" said Ron.

"Nothing, Weasley. I am sorry to have bothered you with my naked body."

"What did you think, Parkinson?" said Ron, only that time it was a demand.

"I…" Pansy was reaching for her dress but Ron wasn't letting her get to it.

"What?" Ron asked again, holding on to her wrist, pulling her to face him.

There he was, just inches away. Pansy swallowed. "I thought maybe you were lonely too."

Ron made a sound something like a laugh. "Oh, I am."

Pansy curled her fingers into his ginger hair and kissed him then, hard. His robes pressed into her naked skin. The buttons were cold, the material smooth, his large hands warm on her naked back.

"You won today," Pansy whispered hot into his ear.

"You like winners," said Ron and then his tongue was in her mouth.

Pansy tugged at his clothes, pulling his robes off his shoulders, scrabbling for skin. Ron's hands came up to help her and after a few moments Pansy's fingertips found the skin of his shoulders, dug into the flesh of his neck.

Ron shoved Pansy towards the bed, stopping to toe off his shoes and let the rest of his clothes hit the floor. Pansy, lying on the bed, giggled at the eagerness with which he moved. He had _so many_ freckles.

Ron glared at her and then leapt. Pansy squealed as he pressed her into the bed, kissing her fiercely. Pansy squirmed, wrapped her legs around Ron's hairy body. Ron kissed her mouth, throat, down to her breasts. She clutched at his hair and shoulders. He slid a hand down her body, down until his fingers slipped inside her.

"Sorry," he whispered, "I haven't… for a while, I haven't."

"Shut up," Pansy snapped and slid her hand down after his to guide him. "You're almost… almost - _there_."

Ron kissed her then and did exactly what she wanted, touched her exactly the way she showed him. He was clumsy and fervent, exactly as she'd thought he'd be. In need of guidance but in need of control. It had been too long for Pansy, too long and it was so good not to be alone anymore even if it was only this moment, only about the win.

Ron kissed her again and shifted over her, lining their bodies up. He was hard and eager against her and Pansy clutched at his buttocks and urged him on. They both groaned as he entered her.

Pinned beneath him, surrounded completely by the heat and the scent of him, Pansy felt like a woman again. Ron thrust inside her over and over, his long fingers sliding over her. Pansy's body felt hotter, heat and pressure building inside her. She clutched at him and he stroked her and in a rush of pleasure the two of them peaked together, gasping, sweating, satisfied.

***

"You're rather confident," Ron observed.

Pansy laughed. "Am I?"

"Not a lot of witches go around just taking all their clothes off like that," Ron said. "Not that I'm complaining," he added swiftly.

"Oh, good, so I'm not too vulgar for you then?"

Ron laughed. "You're vulgar as fuck, Parkinson, but I sort of like it."

"Thank you for those few kind words," Pansy said, poking her perfectly polished fingernail into his side.

"Ouch! Hey!" Ron caught her hand, pinned it to her side. She beamed up at him and he kissed her, unable to resist. "I mean it," he said then, softer. "I like that what you see is what you get."

If Ron had thought of all the ways the moment could be ruined, hearing Harry Potter's voice would not have been on the list. But a roaring from the open fireplace was promptly followed by exactly that. "Ron? Mate?"

Ron looked at Pansy in a kind of plea, then went to answer the call. "Harry. Did you hear?"

"Yeah, good work, mate." Potter cleared his throat. "But…"

"What?" Ron prompted as the silence dragged on.

"Seems the Auror there didn't get him. And neither did the Parkinson's hired goons, just so you know."

"The Parkinsons-" Ron turned to glare at Pansy. She shrugged, letting the sheet fall from her body.

"You and I need to have a chat about how you get your way," Ron whispered fiercely.

"Mate?" said Potter.

"He slipped the net completely?"

"Looks like it, yeah."

"Damn it!" Ron shook his head. "You think he found someone else to help him?"

"Or someone else to hide him."

"So this was for nothing?"

"Not nothing," said Pansy, sitting up further.

"Pansy-" said Ron, trying to make her lie back down.

"Weasley," she replied, mimicking his tone.

"Ron, did you have sex with her?" said Potter sounding mildly appalled.

"Oh, please, Potter, you knew this would happen," Pansy breezed, still across the room. "Here's what I think. The Giresse who is here this week isn't Giresse."

"What?" said Ron.

Pansy yawned. "He talked during a game, Ron. He's a Grandmaster and he tried to pump me for information on you and Gabe in the middle of your game. Seriously? So his entourage here are probably all fake and loaded up on Polyjuice. Get the Swiss on side, hold everybody for an hour and ten minutes and voila, he'll be there. Then question the hell out of him. Meanwhile, Ron still has to place at least fourth to make back the money I loaned him, correct? So please stop distracting him. _Aguamenti_!" And with that a burst of water put out the fire.

Ron stared at her. "You had your wand? In that outfit where on earth did you have your wand?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Does it matter? Now, before we were interrupted you were telling me how great I was?"

"You're scary," Ron said. "What you just did was brilliant, but scary."

"The water?"

"Telling Harry what to do."

"Not just a pretty face," Pansy said, a smile flirting around her mouth. "Come back to bed."

"Pansy," Ron said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Can we talk about this?"

"Not yet, stud," Pansy said, wriggling herself into a more comfortable position. "Want to play Black Queen and White Knight?"

Ron couldn't help it; he laughed.

"Look," Pansy said, "the way I see it, you want to stay for the tournament and I don't have anything better to do. So call it a dirty weekend, figure the rest out later?"

Ron considered. It was Pansy Parkinson, and there were all kinds of reasons why it might blow up in his face. On the other hand, there was a real person in there, he knew it. Someone unhappy, someone who was trying to connect with him. Someone he might just like if he got to know her better. "I could go for a dirty weekend," Ron said with a grin.

Pansy smiled back. "Right then. Your move, Master."

~fin


End file.
